Part of Your World
by TheNewKidd
Summary: Troy Bolton is a bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Gabriella Montez is the over privileged princess that falls for him.
1. This Side of Life

**Author**: TheNewKidd.

**Story:** Part of Your World

**Rating:** **M**; For language, violence, substance mentionings and possible sexual content.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the plot, and any original characters that may be mentioned in this story.

**Summary**: Troy Bolton is a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Gabriella Montez is the over privileged princess that falls for him.

**Author's Note**:Yeah, I know a lot of people have stories based on The O.C, but I still decided to write one, although I think mine is very different from the others. It is only based very, very loosely on the show, and if I may say so, I actually think it's nothing like the show. A small portion of the set-up is based, but the rest is truly original. Troy is slightly based on Ryan Atwood, the troubled lifestyle, I mean, and although he and Gabriella will have a romance in this story, she is not based on Marissa Cooper. Taylor is not based on Summer Roberts, and Chad is not based on Seth Cohen. Sharpay, nor Ryan, Zeke, or Kelsi, or any other characters from the movie are not based on characters in the show. I apologize ahead of time, if anyone feels this story is similar to another on this site, because I promise, this idea for this particular is an original, and I am not sure if it has similarities to any other stories already published.

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"Get your ass up,Troy."

What a lovely alarm clock. A slam of Troy Bolton's bedroom door swinging open, his father's drunken yell, the crash of a beer bottle against his wall. The usual. It was sad to say that Troy was used to this.

"I said get your ass up, you little prick."

The blanket that had been draped across Troy's body was gone now, his father ripping it off angrily. He then flicked on the light. Troy's hazy view rested on his clock beside his bed.

"It's two-thirty,Dad. I'm not getting up. You can beat the shit out of me in about seven more hours." Troy shouldn't have been stupid. He knew better than to argue with his father. The back of his long, shaggy brown hair was suddenly twisted into a knot around Jack Bolton's knuckles, and he was being yanked from his bed, with a groan of pain, which was ignored by Jack.

"I don't care what time it is, boy. You do as I say, and you don't ask questions. Understand?"

Troy clenched his teeth and pushed his father off of him. Jack made a move to grab him again, but stopped himself with a dark chuckle. Though, that wouldn't have been the first time they got into a fist fight. They usually happened in this same story line. Jack comes in drunk, wakes Troy, and they have a smackdown either until Jack passes out mid-swing, or Jack is knocked out by Troy, who always pays for it the next morning.

"We don't have time for your bullshit, Troy. Get dressed," Jack commanded, throwing a pair of jeans into Troy's face. "The cops are on their way."

_Great_, Troy thought, _Again_. For the third time this month, the police were on their way to the Bolton house. Troy wondered what it was about this time, although he had a pretty good idea. Drugs. That's all it was ever about.

"What did you do this time, Jack? Steal something? Fuck with Bronco again? I told you he was going to turn you in next time." Troy snapped anyways, which earned a hard glare from his father. Bronco was the biggest drug dealer that anyone knew of in the state of New Mexico. Jack Bolton worked for him occasionally, until something happened, and Jack never got back on Bronco's good side.

"Shut the fuck up and get dressed. Pack a bag, too. We're meeting Trevor in Mexico." Jack chucked a blue duffel bad at his son.

Troy smirked, shaking his head as he shoved random items into the duffel. He should have known. Trevor Bolton, the older Bolton brother. Jack's pride and joy, mainly because they had so much in common. They were both disgusting, junkie, criminals. Trevor had fled to Cancun a year ago, when a drug deal went a little overboard.And that's where they were fleeing to now, probably for the exact reasons.

"Shit!" Jack yelled suddenly, and Troy froze. He heard them too-The sirens. "Let's go! Now!Hurry up and get outside to the car!"

Troy didn't have to be told twice. He grabbed his jacket, and the bag, running out the front door on Jack's heels. A 2007 Suburban was parked in the front year, and it defiantly didn't belong to them.

"Dad? How the hell did you get this?" Troy yelled, jumping into the passengers seat anyways. Jack slammed the driver's side door,jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine.

"How the hell do you think I got this, smart ass? Now shut the fuck up and quit asking dumb questions."

The Suburban sped backwards, rolling over the Bolton mailbox, but Jack didn't look back. He pushed the car into 'drive' and took off down the crowded trailer park street at about eighty.

The sirens were much louder now, painfully loud, and Troy could see the red and blue flashes in the rearview mirror.

"Hurry up, dad!" Troy yelled over the sirens and roaring car engine. He glanced at the speedometer. They were already going 115 mph. The engine was red-lining. They didn't have a chance at getting away from the cops, that were dangerously close now, starting to pull up beside the end of the suburban. The engine was going to explode any minute.

"Fuck!" Jack Bolton exclaimed, turning his head to the side to get a better look at the approaching car. Before Troy knew what was going on, Jack Bolton had pulled a pistol from under the seat of the Suburban, rolled down the window and fired three shots.

"Dad! What the fuck!" Troy screamed. His father had gone crazy. He may have been in a lot of jams before, but Jack Bolton had never done something so truly bad, to the cops. He'd never fired at them before, so Troy had no idea what his father was doing. Jack Bolton was hanging halfway out of the window, firing an entire round on the Oakland County Police Department. Troy grabbed onto his father's shoulder pulling, until Jack finally came back inside a little. His head was still out of the window, not paying attention to the road.

It all happened rather fast after that.

Troy heard two more gunshots, but they weren't coming from his father's pistol. He felt the suburban sink in the back, from the tire blow out. He was jerked to the right as the car swerved, bumping off of the road, he saw the bright flash of a streetlight before the suburban flew into the pole at full speed. He screamed with the impact, covered his face with his arms as the glass shards jabbed in his direction, heard the sickening crunch of his leg being crushed between the fallen dashboard and the leather suburban seat. Everything was hazy, after that, and so quiet that Troy could hear the crickets. The sirens were gone now, but Troy could still see the blue and red flashes in his cloudy vision. Even through his tears of pain, the blue figure lurking next to his window was unmistakable.

"Oakland County Police Department. You are being placed under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law."

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**Author's Note: **So. My new story. Tell me what you think (:


	2. The Third Degree

"I said I don't fucking know. So don't ask me that question again."

Seventeen year old Troy Bolton sat in his hospital bed, annoyed, frustrated, and in more pain than a woman in labor. His left leg was fractured, in three places, he had stitches from his right elbow to that shoulder, and he couldn't open his left eye, nor feel that side of his face. His ribs were bruised and he had a headache the size of the man sitting in front of him. Which was enormous.

Chief Bart Stolks, who had been sitting at the end of Troy's hospital bed since two nights ago when Troy had arrive at Albuquerque General Hospital, where he'd been flown in a helicopter after the accident. Yes, he had almost lost his life, thanks to his jack ass of a father, but he lived, barely, and had just been moved to a recovery room that morning. He was alive, in pain, and pissed off. He was ready to get the hell out of that hospital, and he wanted to punch the police officer in the face. Chief Bart Stolks was about to be knocked out by a seventeen year old boy.

"So, you have no idea what Jack Bolton was running from?"

Troy laughed as loudly and as harsh as he could, without furthering his pain. "I told you not to ask me that again, Barty-boy."

Chief Stolks' chubby cheeks stretched into a rather ugly looking smirk as he look at Troy. "I'm just trying to get the facts straight, son."

"I'm not your son." Troy snapped, clenching his fists beneath the pale blue blanket that was spread across his lap. The chief let out a low chuckle.

"No. No you're not, are you? I can't say I'm not fortunate for that..." Yes, Officer Stolks was about to get decked in his pudgy nose. "So, this brings us back to the subject of your _father_, and what you're gonna do to help me put him away for the rest of his pathetic life. Trust me, it's in your best intrest. Because I could make your life easy after this, or it could be a livin hell."

Troy laughed again, the same way as before, clearly amused with the Chief's attempt to frighten him. "Is that a threat, Barty-boy?"

Stolks' chuckled, shrugging his large shoulders. "Should it be?"

This was a nightmare. Here Troy, was, in a world of pain, annoyance, and fat boy was trying to make jokes. "As much as you'd love it to be, Bart, this is not an episode of COPS, so please drop the whole intimidation act. We both know you don't do anything all day but roll around in your piece of shit police cruiser, and hold up your badge to get free Big Macs. Call that real police work, if you want, but you obviously have no real skills in that department, or I would have already told you something, huh Bart?" Troy laughed at his own joke, while an already red Bart, probably from trying too hard to breathe, turned an even brighter shade of red.

"Listen, you little shit. This little game you're playing isn't funny. Believe it or not kid, I'm your worst nightmare."

Troy smirked, trying with every inch of himself to hold back a burst of laughter that was itching to be let out. "Sure, Bart."

"That's it!" Bart yelled angrily, grasping onto the sides of the chair to hoist himself up. Troy wondered what he was about to do, because they both knew he wasn't stupid enough to hit him. Well, maybe Troy thought wrong, because as the chubby man advanced quickly, that looked exactly like what Bart had in mind.

"I thought I told you to hold off questioning my client until I was present." A voice halted a mid-swing Bart.

Troy flicked his bright blue eyes over to the door quickly, meeting the warm chocolate browns of a tall, Hispanic man. He was dressed in a navy blue tailored business suit, his slightly graying hair was slicked back into a professional style. He carried a black leather suitcase and his extremely shiny, probably Italian shoes, clicked across the tiled floor as he made his way to a very confused Troy. The man extended a hand, which Troy only stared at. The man gave him a small smile before retrieving his hand.

"Jonothan Montez, Public defender. I'm assigned to your case Troy. And I was told that Mr. Stolks was informed of this. So I'm forced to wonder why he's bombarding you with the third degree." Jonothan said slowly, carefully, professionally, glancing at Bart Stolks, who was now standing, obviously trying to intimidate with his beer gut and his full height of about five feet, seven inches. Jonothan didn't blink an eyelash as he spoke calmly again.

"You are dismissed, Bart." He snapped, and Troy couldn't help but wave a few fingers in the officer's direction.

"See you later, Barty." Troy called, grinning. Bart strode angrily to the door, glancing at Mr. Montez, muttering something about 'informing the justice superiors.'

"Inform whoever you'd like, Bart. All I'm asking you to do is leave. Now."

Bart exited to room as quickly as a two hundred and seventy pound man could. Jonothan turned to Troy, then, a warm smile making its way to his face. For such a cut man, the friendliness fit perfectly.

"How are you feeling?"

Troy scoffed, looking at the man like he was an idiot. "How do I look like I feel? Like shit." Jonothan chuckled, ignoring the edge in Troy's voice, and slid the chair Bart had been sitting in from the end of the bed, to right beside it.

"That's to be expected. You were in _some _crash. Do you need anything? Painkillers, shots?"

Troy shook his head. "I can barely keep my eyes open as it is. I don't know what the fuck they gave me already." Jonothan smiled knowingly.

"Unfortunately, Troy, I came here under strict business matters, that should be sorted as soon as possible. Are you feeling well enough to continue?"

Troy grunted in response. He was dreading this. He hated twenty questions and wasn't in favor of playing right now. He didn't want to hear this man ask him how much of a screw up his life was in thirty different ways, even if he was seemingly friendly. But he knew this routine too well. Smiles to your faces, but when you turn around for one second, then look back, they're slapping handcuffs on you.

"Alright. I'll take that as a yes." Jonothan said, still smiling, as he settled his briefcase on the table beside Troy's bed. He snapped it open, and shuffled a few papers out, along with a pair pf glasses, which he slipped on before clearing his throat. "I have just a few of your records here. I'm just going to go over them with you, okay, Troy?"

Troy smirked. "Wonderful." _Here we go_, Troy thought._ He's going to figure out I'm a fuck up just like my father_.

"I see you've spent some time in a juvenile detention center...Breaking and entering. Burglary. Grand theft auto." Jonothan said, flipping absentmindedly through the papers in his lap. _I see you've spent some time in a juvenile detention center..._ But Troy knew what he was really saying. _I see you're following the same footsteps as your wash up father. _

"...and a few months in a few foster homes..." Jonothan was saying. Troy glanced over to see Jonothan was looking at him as well. "Want to tell me what that was about?"

Troy sighed. Truth: No he really didn't want to talk about it at all. Why should he, when it was probably written right there on the paper. "My mom had cancer. And after she died, my shit head father couldn't keep a roof over our heads. He stayed out all night, every night, and Trev was never around. Our neighbor called the cops after about three months. They put me in a group home for six months, and then I finally moved in with some old hag."

Troy sighed at the memory. He was eleven years old when his mother died. They had been an actual family before then. No drugs, no alcohol. And that was surely something good to say, with them living in such a bad part of town. And then when she died, everything had went downhill. His dad turned to liquor and his brother did anything he could to stay as far away from them both. And that day when the cops showed up, was maybe one of the best days of Troy's life, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Even though he was beat up everyday in his group home, it was better to get the shit beat out of him by boys his own age, than by his own father.

But moving in with Mrs. Calder was the best part. It was the happiest time in Troy's life, after his mother passed. He lived with her for one entire year. She made the best peanut butter cookies in the world. But she was old, and soon enough, she died too, just like everyone Troy loved. He went back to the group home after that. Until his father surprisingly cleaned up his act a little. Enough to get Troy back. But he went back to his old ways a week later. And it had been that way for five years.

"Yes, I see...A Mrs. Calder? And what happened in that situation?" Jonothan asked next.

Troy shrugged. "She was old. She croaked." Jonothan stared at Troy for a moment, possibly pondering how he could be so crude about such a subject, but returned to his questions none the less.

"And what about your brother? Was he in the group homes with you?"

"He never came around enough to get caught..." Troy told him, shrugging. "He was in a gang, he lived on the streets. And now he's in Mexico."

Jonothan Montez nodded. "I'm aware of the last part...and is this where you and your father were headed also? Mexico?"

Troy looked over at the older man, who was staring back at him, that same friendly expression on his face. But Troy was getting annoyed. What did this have anything to do with the situation?

"Look, Jonny, am I going to jail or not? If not, can you let me know when I can get the fuck out of this hospital and go home?"

Jonothan looked slightly taken aback at the sudden outburst, but he kept his straight face and maintained eye contact with Troy. "Jail? No. But I'm not so sure that going home is an option for you right now, Troy. Your father isn't in any condition to take care of you..."

Much to Jonothan's surprise, Troy stared for a moment before bursting into laughter, because he knew exactly why his father wasn't in any position to take care of him. "He's finally done it again, that fucking idiot. Back in the slammer."

Jonothan smiled softly. "It may only be a temporary situation. They may find the charges faulty..."

Troy laughed again, shaking his head. "You obviously know nothing about Jack Bolton. Even if they found the charges faulty, whatever the fuck they are this time, the cops still have enough on that dick head to keep him in there until he's eighty."

Jonothan shrugged, and began flipping through the papers again. "Maybe you're right. But in the meantime, I've arranged other means of living arrangements for you--"

Troy cut him off. "What do you mean, other living arrangements?" If there was something Troy didn't want to be was some charity case, or a group home kid. He actually thought he would rather go back to a group home then live with some strange, rich people, who dressed like Mr. Montez, and thought caviar was a food group.

"Well, there are some friends of mine--" Jonothan was cut off again. See, Troy had known this was coming. He snorted a laugh, shaking his head.

"No way am I staying with any of your ritzy little friends." Troy snapped, shifting the covers off of him. "I'm old enough to stay by myself, I don't need a fucking babysitter, or your friends gratitude. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm getting the fuck out of this shit hole."

Troy had manuvered one leg over the edge, with a few winces of pain, when a big, tan hand latched onto his, halting his movements. He looked up into the eyes of a very tested Mr. Montez.

"You're not going any damn where, son."

Troy Bolton froze in suprise. For the first time in their short conversation, Jonothan Montez was showing a different side. His dark eyes were hard and narrowed, his hands clenched tightly over the papers in his hand. This was a version Troy probably shouldn't have offered to see. Things weren't going to end well now, he knew. He'd been called son again, also, by someone other than his father. But it was different than when the officer had snapped at him. Being called son by this man felt different for some reason. He didn't have the urge to knock him out, as he had wanted to do to Deputy Ding Dongs.

"What makes you think it's gratitude? Those ritzy friends of mine owe you nothing. If you would have let me finish, I could have told you that they are foster parents. They're good people, and they're willing to take you in."

Troy was not going to back down frightened from this man. He didn't care who he was, he wasn't about to tell him what he was going and what wasn't going to do. "Thank them for me, Jonny, but I'm still not staying there."

Jonothan let out a low chuckle, obviously sensing Troy's willingness to a challenge. But he was a step ahead of Troy. "It's either with them, or back to Juvy."

Troy swallowed quickly, clenching his fists in anger once again. Anything he had been about to say was lodged in his throat. Jonothan Montez had won, because if there was one place Troy wasn't going back to, it was Juvy. Jonothan noticed the hesitation in Troy's answer and nodded, stacking the papers into a pile and stuffing them back into his briefcase before standing up.

"See? I didn't think you'd argue. Now, if _you'll_ excuse _me_," he snapped, "I have a few hospital release forms to sign for you. And then, we'll go meet those _ritzy_ friends of mine."

Troy watched Jonothan Montez depart swiftly from the room and laughed to himself. There was something he liked about that guy, for some reason. And there was obviously something that guy like about Troy. Troy knew a kid like him didn't deserve any breaks, but Mr. Montez had just cut him a big one. And even if Troy didn't want to admit it, he was truly thankful.

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**A/N:** So...Troy's a jerk. Ha Ha, don't worry, he'll turn into a softy soon enough. I just have to portray the whole 'bad bot' thing for him. Anyways, are you liking this? Please be honest! & In the next chapter, Troy will meet all of the Danforth's, and so will you! I am actually really super excited for this story, for some reason. I don't know why, exactly, I just have a good feeling about it! Also, I WILL continue to update 'Things Can Get Complicated' as quickly as I can, depending on when I have time to do so, and not only because of 'Part of Your World.'

Thank you, all (:

TheNewKidd.


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